You Put The Lime In The Coconut
by Wijida
Summary: **New format** The early years, give or take. Catherine's still working the clubs...when a job offer wanders her way...from a man she's going to need to figure out... (G/C, by the way)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS...

**You Put The Lime In The Coconut**

By Manda

She stripped off the sweat-drenched G-string with ease, slinging the delicate violet garment across the room and into a closely woven straw basket, it being the only thing of natural beauty in the smoky back room. Dream Dolls may have improved its clientele over time, but as Catherine Willows sat gingerly in a folding chair, swiping runny mascara and sparkling face powder from her cheeks, she realized that the chances of the back area being improved...were close to nil, in her lifetime.

It was easy enough to tune out the noise reverberating from the speakers out front, once she'd safely tucked herself away in the dressing room. The DJ possessed a fondness for loud rap and raunchy female performers, so night after night provided her with a beat to tap her foot to, and a rhythm to caress the pole to. If only Ty would do something to provide a little warmth...the lights onstage were weak with overuse, and with only a G-string for company, even the most seasoned of his dancers would complain from time to time. It was in the cards.

"Catherine!" The deep, raunchy voice of Nita Nibblins, one of the few others employed, rang out through the rear hallway, as the buxom brunette leaned around the unpainted oak doorframe and stared pointedly at Catherine. "Get decent, kiddo- there's a man here to see you."

"Is it Eddie?" Catherine had already begun to pull a terrycloth robe over her unclothed form, clenching the waist tightly, well-manicured fingers executing a tight knot within the belt. "Nita, tell him I'll-"

"It's not Eddie. Some fellow...says he's a criminalist...whatever the hell that is. Looks like you could be serious with this one." Tossing off a sly wink, the older dancer vanished, and Catherine tucked her feet into comfortable pink slippers before wandering out into the hallway, and toward Ty's private office, where the majority of important visitors usually waited. The proprietor himself was just exiting the close quarters, giving Cath a nonchalant wave as he made his way through a thick, black curtain separating the house from the back.

The office of Ty Kapelos wasn't necessarily any better than the dressing room, and certainly no better furnished. Wood-paneled walls were home to scattered posters sporting naked women and powerful men in compromising positions. A man sat alone in one of Kapelos' uncomfortable guest chairs, clothed in coal-grey, button down shirt, left hand tapping patiently upon his knee, right hand occupied in holding a thin, manila envelope within its grasp. His eyes were as blue as the G-String she had worn last night, the memory of the sparkling, sweat-glistening garment fresh in her mind. She'd picked it off a discount rack at Macy's, stuffing it into her jeans and wandering out the service entrance before anyone was the wiser...and Ty hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed, hadn't cared...so long as his 'best dancer' was properly attired, and in something that flattered her.

This man didn't look like he'd be flattered by the G-String, nor the type of attention Catherine was accustomed to bestowing upon visiting males. And for once, she was grateful for the chance to shed that part of her persona.

"Hey, there." She forced the remainder of Montana accent from her voice, making sure to keep the tones as cool and professional as they were during any job interview she'd ever attended...before the one at Dream Dolls. "What can I do for you?"

"Gil Grissom. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab." Her heart skipped a beat as he offered a hand, and she took it, eyebrows raised as his eyes glanced over her robed figure. "You're Catherine Willows?"

"That's right. What can I do for you, Mr. Grissom? You don't look like you're here for a private showing." Her comment caused a gentle blush, the color of a Nevada sunset, to settle upon Gil Grissom's boyish features, and she chuckled softly as he turned his head away from her momentarily. "What does the Las Vegas Crime Lab want with me?"

"Professor Burgen at UNLV sent me your transcript....he mentioned that you were interested in forensic science, and you've almost completed your degree." The folder was opened, papers extracted, and Grissom cleared his throat loudly. "Top of your class...99.7 percent accuracy rate in blood spatter analysis... You've impressed someone, Catherine."

"If we're on a first name basis...mind if I call you Gil?" She pulled the chair from behind Kapelos' thin-framed metal desk, studying it momentarily before choosing to sit tentatively on the edge of the desk. She waved her right hand in a gesture to what was featured upon the walls, nose turning upward as she regarded them. "God knows what Ty does while he's in here, looking at these...things. I could test his chair for DNA for months, and never find a thing worth using."

"Somehow, I don't doubt that." Several other papers were withdrawn, and Grissom offered them to her, sliding closer to the edge of his chair in order to reach her hand from across the space between them. "Our number is on there...as well as an application and a scheduled interview. Jim Brass will be the one you'll talk to when you get there."

"What about you, Mr. Grissom? If you're coming in to recruit new talents...pardon the pun...aren't you going to be able to throw your weight around? After all...without you, where would the Las Vegas Crime Lab be, at the moment? Other than in their status as the number two crime lab in the country, of course." She allowed herself a sly smile at his apparent surprise; obviously, he hadn't expected her to be aware of such a statistic.

"The lab's backed up this week...double homicide in Henderson, two murders on the strip. Dead tourist...viciously raped behind a strip club." The glance he cast in her direction was one of curiosity and amusement, his eyes twinkling with an overabundance of mirth. She'd underestimated him, believing this man to have no humor at all. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Willows..."

"Please. Call me Catherine." She accepted his hand once again, and no sooner had he shaken it then the boyish figure vanished through the doorway, and the heavy black curtain, separating their worlds from one another yet again.

Leaving Catherine with more options than she knew what to do with.

~**TBC**


	2. You Put the Lime In the Coconut part 2

**Disclaimer:** CSI belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS, and Alliance/Atlantis...  


You Put the Lime in the Coconut  
(Part 2)  
By Manda  


She could remember the first day she'd interviewed for a job in Vegas. Pulling off her clothes, violet faux-silk dress puddled on the floor at her feet for a panel of cigar-smoking men with loud t-shirts and hungry eyes glued to her sashaying hips. After ten minutes, the job had been hers; although she suspected that it wouldn't have taken that long if there had been any pressing business in the club. 'The Litter Box', full of 'Cat's' and 'Kit's', soon advertising Catherine Willows and Kit Travers as the headlining duo, dancing to the music of The Go-Go's and Michael Jackson.

  
The interview had been set for late evening, and Catherine set out through her front door, her boot heels clicking methodically upon the cracked cement that had been poured long before Catherine could ever remember setting foot in Henderson, Nevada. She'd watched neighborhood children on so many summer days, riding their bent-frame bicycles and worn mental scooters up and down the block, while she squinted through thrift-store lace curtains, drinking lukewarm screwdrivers and wondering why the hell they never seemed to fall down.

  
"You shouldn't be walking at night." A friendly voice and the hum of an engine drew her eyes to the side of the road, and she paused in walking to stare questioningly at the driver. Passenger window down, interior light shining, she recognized the driver as none other than Gil Grissom.

  
"You shouldn't be stopping to talk to strangers." She retorted, as the passenger door swung open and she slipped into the seat beside the driver, his eyes focused on the road as the vehicle continued its journey. There was the scent of toasted bread in the contained space, and as she glanced behind them, a crumpled bakery bag caught her eye.  


"Bagels. There's a bakery not far from here...they're wheat, if you're interested."  


"No, thank you. I'm a straight-bagel person, myself."  


"Straight bagel?"  


"Plain, no butter." She crossed her legs and gazed out the window, the sun beginning to cast a tangerine glow over the horizon. Houses alit with the glow of television screens and small table lamps, slowly being left behind as the vehicle entered the heavier-trafficked areas of Las Vegas, where barking dogs were less frequent and bright lights a norm. "Do you normally drive through Henderson at this hour, Mr.Grissom?"

  
"Frequently. I live here. Refurbished brownstone." The skin around his eyes tightened slightly as the lights of Vegas battled with his vision and the gently tinted windshield, and without a word Catherine leaned over to lower the drivers-side visor. "How long have you been living in Henderson?"  


"Four months. I'm not living in a condo, though...but my dancing is enough to pay the rent on a modest bungalow." She smiled at the thinning of his lips as they pulled into four-lane traffic, and he took a moment to turn his eyes toward her.  


"It's a townhouse, Catherine- not a condo."  


"I see. A bachelor's pad...too cool to be referred to as a 'condo'." As they pulled into an asphalt lot, she deftly flipped the visor back up, hand gently brushing Grissom's wayward locks of salt-and-pepper hair. "I'm sorry."  


"It's all right." As they slipped out of the vehicle and headed toward the sprawling building, a cool breeze began to stir up the fine layer of dust covering the richly black asphalt, and Catherine pulled the collar of her jacket up to shield her breathing passages. The action was repeated by Grissom, who stepped close and offered his arm to guide her. "You'll be meeting with Brass."  


"I know." She smiled, shaking sand out of her hair, the strands feeling dry and brittle from the momentary exposure. Warm fingers collided with herown nimble digits, and she realized that Grissom had reached over to lend a hand, his own hair free of the gritty particles. It had been...such a long time since a man had touched her hair in any sort of gentle manner, and she tossed the mass over her shoulders while casting a soft smile at the man who thought to look at her in such a way that many men in her past had never considered her- as an equal in his field.  


At the office of Captain James Brass, they parted ways, Grissom wishing her luck as she tugged nervously at her charcoal grey blouse, adjusting the collar as she knocked hesitantly upon the door, shifted slender legs clothed in tightly fitting black leather pants...and waited.  


~~~  
"Excuse me...I'm looking for Gil Grissom?" He was up before the sentence was completed, sticking his head through the open doorway of his cluttered, darkened office to catch sight of Catherine Willows, making inquires of a white-coated lab attendant.  


"I don't know if..."  


"Catherine?" Reading glasses dangling, Grissom stepped out into the brightly lit hallway, heels squeaking gently against freshly washed linoleum as he strode to meet her halfway. "That didn't take long."  


"No...it didn't." She seemed shaken, hair mussed as she drew her fingers through it, withdrawing several pins that had, until that point, held the mane safely behind her ears. Without them, auburn and gold ran free, tumbling over her grey-clad shoulders, and she shook it out further as her heels followed his into the tiny office. "You have  
your own office...impressive."  


"You could call the whole world my office, in this field of work-- so I'm afraid this isn't doing it justice." He cleared a spot on the glistening brown leather sofa, and she sat gratefully upon it as Grissom arranged boxes on the floor beside it. "You don't look well...was it that bad?"  


"I think he'd rather add Ty Kapelos to his staff than a soon-to-be-former stripper." She commented, settling back into the crackling upholstery. Grissom slid down beside her, and she smiled as his hand brushed hers. Perhaps not on purpose, as his cheeks colored to the shade of Nevada sunset, and he drew it subtly away from her own...but  
contact had been welcome. "I'm not sure if you knew what you were doing, Gil, coming to get me out of that life. It might not be something that's meant to be...yet."  


"Of course it is, Catherine. You're the best I've seen at what you're trying to do. Blood Spatter Analysis- there's no one in the field...no one who has been at it for any amount of time...who has the  
eye that you do for it. I can see that from your training scores alone."  


She nodded, and he slipped his fingers through hers, lifting her hand up into the light that filtered through the open doorway.  


"What are you doing?"  


"Holding your hand." He smiled, and lifted his eyes to meet hers. "You look like you need reassurance."  


"And how, Gil, will holding my hand provide that?"  


"Comfort can be provided in the smallest amounts of contact." He responded, and with that, the two sat in silence, until she at last leaned close, shoulder brushing his own as her lips met his smooth, shaven cheek.  


"Thank you for that, Gil Grissom."  


"...You're welcome."  
  
~**TBC (Soon, I promise)**


End file.
